A Cunning Plan
by Maverick95
Summary: Hermione enlists Ron's help in getting a certain couple to finally admit their feelings for each other, but how much closer will the two become in the process?
1. Another Normal Evening?

"Before you begin getting complacent, or thinking about how smart you've been, just remember one thing - you don't know who else is thinking the same."

Anonymous

* * *

Prologue I - Another Normal Evening? 

It was another normal Friday evening in the Gryffindor common room – well, normal enough for the adventurous Trio, anyway. The Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis, were once again hunched together around the fireplace, pouring over a ragged piece of parchment and exchanging whispers. Ginny, the youngest member of the Weasley family, was curled up on the softest part of the carpeted floor. She was biting her quill in frustration as she tried to remember the dates of vampire and werewolf strikes in the nineteenth century. And just like any other day at Hogwarts, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were sitting in armchairs, opposite each other, now only thirty seconds away from one of their notorious little arguments. Ron was just putting the finishing touches to the bottom row of an Exploding Snap card house, moving his hands dramatically as he did so. Hermione, on the other hand, was being Hermione, as usual. She was frantically scribbling away on what must have been her third roll of parchment, the top of which was now brushing daintily against the carpet. It would have been amusing to watch her at work. She was going through a continuous cycle of actions. She would write for a minute or two, her hand dancing elegantly across the face of the paper, her brow furrowed in concentration. She'd then follow that with a sigh, then a frown, before shooting an impatient glance over the top of her work at Ron. And the cycle would begin all over again.

Ron shuffled away from his handiwork and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

'A masterpiece in the making!' he proclaimed. 'Let's hope this run of luck continues, I'm starving. And I'm not going anywhere until I've finished this!'

Hermione sighed for the tenth time that minute. She lowered her parchment from where she'd been holding it three inches away from her face, and fixed her best friend with a quizzical stare.

'Just what, Ron,' she began, 'is the point in spending your time building one of those... things? Even if you do manage to get all of the cards on top of each other, how long do you really think it'll go without - blowing up again?'

'Hey,' Ron answered simply, 'that's the whole fun of the game, Hermione! You never know what's going to happen next! It makes you admire what you've done while you can, at least. I'll bet it's a hundred times more exciting than whatever it is you've been scribbling away on for the past century, anyway.'

'Some of us who value our education, Ron, _get work done every now and then_. Maybe you should be following my example. You _are _a prefect, after all.'

Ron snorted in mirth. Hermione quickly glared daggers at him.

'Of course I care, Hermione. I'm always hard at work, when I have to be, anyway. It's just I think there're times for working hard, and then there're times for doing... well, other stuff. Fun stuff.'

'Wouldn't you feel a lot better if you sat down with me and at least made a start on your Transfiguration essay?'

Ron wiggled his eyebrows mysteriously. 'And how do you know I haven't already done it, Miss Perfect Granger?'

'Well, Mister Lazy Weasley,' Hermione replied sarcastically, 'that would be because we were only set it this afternoon. And all you've been doing since then is playing game after game of Wizard chess with Harry, and trying to build that stupid card house for the hundredth time. Which, I might add, is very annoying to people who are trying to work in the same room!'

'Just you, then, I see.'

Hermione let out another sigh of impatience, and returned to her busy scribbling. Ron could sense the withering stares that were regularly being shot his way as he completed the second row of his masterpiece.

'Hermione, we've got all weekend to do that wretched essay! It's Friday evening, for God's sake! Have a bit of 'you' time for once. You've been working like a hou – er, well, really hard - all week. I'm surprised you've avoided arthritis.'

Ron caught the smallest of smiles appearing on Hermione's face out of the corner of his eye.

'I'm glad you care, Ron. But even you can't say that the work isn't being piled on us this year. If I want to get the grades I need to carry on to my seventh year N.E.W.Ts, I can't afford to stop now. Neither can you, either.'

'Ahh... you've got me there, I s'pose. Can't say you're wrong.'

Hermione's eyebrows were raised in surprise. 'So,' she inquired, as sweetly as she could, 'does this mean that you'll do at least a bit of work on your essay tonight, Ronald? I'll even help you, if you ask nicely.'

'No.'

Ron couldn't stop himself from laughing now. Hermione was not pleased.

'Ron! I'm being very s –'

But what it was that Hermione was being, exactly, Ron never found out. She stopped speaking as soon as they both heard the familiar sound of the Fat Lady's portrait creaking open slowly. It looked as if the person on the other side was having to use a lot of effort to open it.

After a couple more seconds of exhausted pushing and grunting, a thin face appeared into the room, followed closely by an equally thin body. The boy standing in the entrance had a skinny, pallid air around him, as though he had hit a growth spurt and the rest of his body was struggling to catch up. He wore thick-rimmed glasses, and had jet-black, untidy hair and a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt across his forehead. Harry Potter was also, at this moment, drenched to head to foot in rain and mud, and clutching a broomstick half-heartedly in one hand.

'Evening, Ron. Evening, Hermione,' he began wearily, stumbling over to the nearest armchair and collapsing into its cosy depths. 'How are things?'

'Hello, Harry,' Hermione replied brightly, her curling piece of parchment momentarily forgotten. 'How was your Seeker practice?'

It was a while before Harry could gather the breath he needed to utter a reply.

'Exhausting,' he answered, 'and... wet. Cold, too. Anyway, I'm glad I finished when I did. I missed most of the rain. All right there, Ron? Haven't you got it finished yet?'

'No, he hasn't,' said Hermione icily before Ron could open his mouth. 'He's been sat there for two hours now, doing nothing but irritating me with that pointless exercise. In fact,' she added scathingly, 'I'm under the impression he's doing it deliberately.'

'Hey!' Ron protested, waving his arms wildly in front of him. His violent hand caught a pair of cards balancing gingerly on the third row, causing the entire top section to topple onto the table like dominoes. 'Dammit! Look what you made me do now, Hermione! That could've blown up right in my face!'

'Oh, sorry, Ronald. I forgot how important that card house was towards getting something worthwhile done, rather than wasting _another _evening away while I get even further ahead of you. I'm _so _sorry for interrupting you.'

'Oh, what was that? Harry, did you hear that? Was that _sarcasm _I heard in your voice there, Miss Granger? Please, do go on.'

'Oh, Ron, don't start with me now, I've got a lot to do. So have you. I've got to finish this essay soon and get started on Hagrid's diagrams of the Cockatrice before I go to bed!'

'Start? Start what? I haven't started anything! It was you that made me knock over part of what I've been concentrating on for the last hour building! Thanks a bunch, Hermione!'

'Concentrating? Concentrating!? You wouldn't know the meaning of the word if it –'

Harry clapped a damp hand to his forehead in fatigue as both Ron's and Hermione's voices rose in anger. He had been hoping he could relax by the fireplace, after another excruciating night of personal Quidditch training. His muscles were aching, and he was sure his hands had gone completely limp from the cold. He wasn't sure just how much of his best friends' endless bickering he could withstand tonight. Usually, he would have been immune to it. He was sure everyone who had sat around the Gryffindor common room for at least thirty seconds could develop a mental barrier against the tirade of noise. It was as common a sound to this room as the flickering of the flames in the hearth opposite him.

In fact, most of them already had. As he stole a quick glance around the rest of the room, Harry noticed that the Creevey brothers hadn't even bothered to turn their heads. Ginny had shown a brief amount of amusement at the two as they began to tear chunks out of each other once again. That hadn't lasted very long, however. She had quickly rolled her eyes when she'd detected Harry's gaze on her, and went back to struggling with her complicated essay.

Harry risked a quick listen to what Ron and Hermione had moved onto now.

'I don't understand how you think, Ron! You're not as stupid as you ever make out, you're smarter than most people here, and if you only applied yourself with just a bit of commitment to your studies, I think you'd show a considerable amount of improvement!'

'Oh, so now I'm failing, am I, Hermione!? Am I completely dysfunctional? Am I dragging you down because I'm not totally enthusiastic about working on a Friday evening? Just because I don't sit in a chair with ten books beside me every night, not talking to my best friend, who I might add chose to spend time with you anyway, doesn't make me a total idiot! Just because I don't write three foot long essays for McGonagall every night, or Flitwick, or _Vicky..._'

Harry knew at that moment that Ron had just poured a hundred barrels worth of petrol onto their already heated argument. He braced himself for the explosion. _Earmuffs_, he thought suddenly, _that's what Dumbledore should have given all the Gryffindors at the start of the year. We all need earmuffs._

The outburst never came. Hermione, it seemed, had at least an ounce of sense in her. She threw Ron the worst possible look that she could muster – not of anger, nor of hatred, but of pure pity.

'How did I guess you were about to drag Viktor's name into the conversation again?' she said quietly. She was obviously trying to control her temper, and doing a fairly good job of it. 'You seem to be making a habit of it. I've got important work to do here, Ron, and if you want to sit around, throwing insults at Viktor behind his back, then there's a perfectly good wall over there waiting for you. I suggest you use it.'

With that, she disappeared once again behind her roll of parchment. Harry and Ron quickly recognised the familiar scratching sound of pen on paper, which told them that Hermione was busy working again.

Ron's breath caught in his throat. He really hadn't expected Hermione to take the argument down a dead end. He was temporarily thrown off guard.

'That's real typical of you, Hermione. Real mature! Whenever we raise stuff that you don't want to talk about, you always get out as soon as you can! Why are you so afraid of talking about Krum to me!? What are you scared of?'

Ron's question was answered by Hermione's pen, as it placed a full stop onto the parchment with a flourish. Harry couldn't be sure of anything, but he guessed that Hermione was wearing a smug smile that nobody else could see. Even the blank side of the parchment seemed to be smirking at Ron's fuming expression.

'Hermione! I'm talking to you!'

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Pause. Sigh. Scratch, scratch

'Fine! Go away and hide behind your work! See if I care!'

Ron sat down on the floor rather abruptly and stretched his legs out underneath the coffee table. He turned his entire body away from Hermione's and carried on where he had left off with his card house. He wasn't having much success, though - Harry couldn't help but notice the way that he tried desperately not to keep glancing over at Hermione's armchair, or the way that he kept pushing two cards together with much more force than was necessary, causing the second tier of his house to eventually collapse as though it were made of straw.

Harry would have laughed out loud, or at least chuckled quietly to himself, at the situation before him. However, Ron and Hermione _were_ his two best friends. This meant one important thing. Unless he stepped in now and made the peace between them, he would be looking forward to another week of passing messages between them, or forcing them to try and talk to each other. Not surprisingly, he chose the former. And he'd have to take a risk to do it.

He cleared his throat.

'Er... so, Hermione?' he began. The scratching noise immediately ceased, and the parchment lowered by an inch or two. 'Um... how is Viktor Krum doing? Did you – did you go to meet him over the summer in the end?'

The scratching immediately ceased.

He could Ron breathing loudly through his nostrils as the last sentence left his mouth.

'Don't you start with me now as well, Harry, because I'm telling you now, mate, I'm really not in the mood for this.'

'I'm sure that Harry's petrified with fear, Weasley,' Hermione said scathingly, placing her work aside on the table. 'It's a reasonable question, Harry. I'm glad at least one of my so-called best friends is open to making friends with Viktor.'

'So? How is he?'

There was an odd silence from Hermione for a moment or two before she answered.

'I – I really wouldn't know, Harry,' she began in a higher voice than usual. 'So far this year, I've written to him three times – once in October, once on Christmas Eve and then just last week. But... I haven't had any replies from him yet. He hasn't sent as much as a short note saying 'Hello'.'

Ron's hands paused from where they were about to begin the second row again. Harry got the distinct impression that he was listening in, but didn't want Hermione to know he was too interested in the subject. Harry, on the other hand, was just puzzled.

'He hasn't said anything to you at all?' he asked, frowning. 'Hasn't contacted you in any way?'

Hermione suddenly had a wary expression on her face. She was hesitant in answering Harry again. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. She looked as though he was about to open her cupboard door, and spill all of her innermost secrets out to whoever was close enough to see them.

'No, Harry, I just told you that! No letters, no owls, no telegrams... no muggle mail, even! Nothing.'

Harry was now even more puzzled. He was hard pressed to see why the man who had been more than a little jealous of his and Hermione's friendship in fourth year had suddenly decided to start giving her the silent treatment.

'But... why?' he pressed on. 'That doesn't seem like the Viktor Krum that I met in the Triwizard Tournament. You two are still friends, aren't you?'

Hermione threw Harry a pained expression, her eyes darting towards Ron and back as she did so. Luckily for her, Ron didn't notice. He was still too busy trying to listen to their conversation and complete his card house at the same time.

'Yes, Harry, we are,' she said quickly. 'We were still friends the last time I saw him.'

'When was that?'

Hermione took a deep breath. 'The same time as you... and Ron. I... I haven't seen him since then. Since the end of fourth year.'

Ron couldn't pretend that he wasn't listening in anymore. The cards he was holding in his outstretched fingers fluttered to the carpet, forgotten. His eyes were fixed dumbly on Hermione, his mouth hanging open. He probably wouldn't have noticed if his card house had detonated right there and then, reminding him that his eyebrows didn't have to be a permanent feature of his face. He wasn't the only one. Ginny Weasley's essay was immediately pushed to one side as her eyes snapped upwards to stare at the back of Hermione's armchair.

'What?' Ron asked dimly. His eyes seemed to have glazed over, and his animosity towards his best friend suddenly seemed to have vanished. 'I mean, didn't you – didn't you go and see him that summer? He asked you to, didn't he?'

The look on Hermione's face at that moment said to Harry that she would have sentenced a million house elves to slavery, if it meant she could evaporate on the spot and reappear in a different room.

'I – I don't want – yes, Ron, he did,' she stuttered. 'And I was going to go, as well. He asked me after he pulled me out of the lake, and I said yes. I – I meant it, too.'

Harry got the message that this was a subject Hermione did not want to discuss at great length. Ron, however, was not so subtle. Either his curiosity got the better of him, or he was suddenly too blind to notice the silencing looks that Harry was sending his way. Either way, he decided to unwisely plough on.

'So?' he said abruptly, shrugging his shoulders in question. 'What happened? Why didn't you? Did he say anything else to you? Did he call it off?'

_Jesus Christ, Ron, you're digging too deep now. Just shut up. Shut up. It's not worth going there. Really._

Despite whatever skills in Occlumency he had picked up from Snape over the course of fifth year, Harry's telekinetic abilities were still non-existent.

Hermione was desperately trying to avoid Ron's stare. 'Well,' she mumbled, 'do you r-remember when we left Hogwarts that year? When we were getting on the train, and Viktor pulled me over to one side for a minute? Do you remember, Ron?'

'What did he say to you?'

Hermione took another deep breath, as though she were bracing herself for a deep plunge.

'He... he said that he would really m-miss me that summer if I didn't go and see him. He told me that – that I was the thing that he would most sorely miss. And then, he... he asked me to be his girlfriend.'


	2. Viktor's Proposal

"Whoever dehydrated those pirates could not have foreseen their rehydration with the heavy water we use to recharge the atomic pile! Naturally leaving them in a highly unstable position! The slightest impact was sufficient to... instantly reduce them to anti matter!"

Adam West from 'Batman; The Movie'

* * *

Prologue II - Viktor's Proposal

Hermione's face was immediately frozen in an expression of blind shock.

"W-what did you say? Viktor, I – I don't understand."

It was extremely crowded in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts on the last day of term. Many different groups of students were either moping around in the sweltering heat that the cloudless sky had brought them that day, or exchanging their farewells in high, enthusiastic voices. The clattering of several pairs of shoes on the marble staircase indicated that more and more people were rushing down to join the noisy hub of activity. It was like they were stuck in Diagon Alley at the height of market day. The combination of the dense crowd, the hundreds of bags and suitcases that accompanied them and the rays of blistering sunlight made it impossible for anybody to move - if they could've been bothered to. Hermione had to push and shove for elbow space as it was. She was standing with Viktor Krum, her world-famous date for last year's Yule Ball, in the more isolated corner of the room. Krum was leant opposite her against a formidable stone pillar. He was looking very calm by comparison with the flustered Hermione Granger. She was stood only a foot away from his curved nose, thick black eyebrows and questioning eyes, with a rosy tint spreading rapidly across her cheeks. She was wringing her hands nervously, and carefully making sure that she looked in every direction except his.

Krum shuffled closer to her. He seemed to be making a point of keeping his voice low – not that he really needed to. The only way that the people next to them would hear was if he shouted.

'I'm surprised vith you, Hermy-own-ninny,' he said, with the slightest of smiles on his face. 'You have always been an intelligent girl. Yet you cannot see vot it is I am offering you right now. It is simple enough for you to vork out. I am offering you my heart.'

Hermione was utterly taken aback. She couldn't believe that this was happening to her. She felt like pinching her skin just to see if it would wake her up. Was this all real, or was it just another dream, about another boy this time? Viktor Krum; world famous celebrity; the Triwizard Champion of Durmstrang; the Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker (possibly the greatest Seeker in the world); her best friend's previous idol... he wanted her as his girlfriend? He would actually choose her, bushy haired Hermione Granger, over all the Veela-like girls that had spied on him every day in the Library? Over all the groupies that he must have collected as an international superstar? No, it didn't make any sense to her. If she had been in any boy's shoes, no matter how desperate, she was the last girl that she would have gone for.

Her expression of surprise was obviously not so subtle. Krum saw this as a sign for him to plough on.

'I do not see vhy this is such a big shock for you,' he continued. 'I am a fool for not asking you this before now, before we haff to say goodbye to each other.'

'But - but Viktor... why? W-why me? Why is it me you want?'

Krum suddenly looked as taken aback as Hermione.

'Surely you cannot be serious?' he said. His voice was laced with confusion, maybe even a little anger. 'It is my turn to not understand, it seems. My reasons are obvious. It is oblivious to everybody here except me. They are all practically blind - I vould expect nothing less. Nobody here appreciates you nearly as half as much as you deserve, Hermy-own-ninny. Even your so-called best friend, Ronald...'

Krum's face suddenly darkened as Ron's name escaped from his lips. It quickly brightened again, however, when his eyes fell onto Hermione once again.

'...he is also too blind to see. He takes for granted your intelligence when it is useful for him, while he neglects everything else about you that is so... vonderful. But I am not like that. I see you for who you truly are. You are vithout a doubt the most beautiful girl that I haff ever met, Hermy-own-ninny. You do not need to dress yourself up like every other girl here to show it. You haff a beauty in you that is so deeper vithin you than your appearance.'

Hermione's quick burst of anger at Krum's mention of Ron passed. Her blush couldn't help but intensify as he continued to pour out his heart to her.

'You are kind and you vere good company to me, even if I could not manage to learn to say your name. You did not shy avay from me vhen I was too nervous to ask you to your Yule Ball. You were sweet and you were patient - that is more than I vould haff been. You are not irresponsible or lazy in your vork like almost every other student I haff met here. You are strong enough to know vot it is you have to do to succeed. Your heart is pure, and you vill protect those who are good no matter how veak or useless they are to you. That is a quality that I haff never seen in any human being. Everything about you that I haff seen is beautiful - and you haff touched my heart since the first day I laid my eyes upon you. Is that not reason enough for me to feel this way?'

Hermione's shock had now been pushed into the realms of complete numbness. It was a totally unknown situation for her – it just felt... completely unreal. It was like she was playing the female lead in one of those romantic muggle films that she had subjected Ron to, much to his displeasure, when the two of them had decided to take some time away from the Burrow that previous summer. It was that magical final moment in the film's climax, when the handsome leading male finally admitted his undying love for her, and the two of them shared that long-awaited kiss as an entire movie audience, save Ron, grew tearful into their popcorn. That particular ending, however, was one that she was fearful to consider.

She felt Krum's eyes on her once again. It was obviously her turn to speak. Her mind struggled to think of something, anything meaningful, that she could use as an answer.

'I – er, I – I don't know if – I'm not –'

'I am sorry,' smiled Krum, obviously sensing her discomfort. The smile, however, did not reach his eyes. 'Perhaps I haff been too forward vith you. I do not expect you to give a reply right avay, Hermy-own-ninny. I understand that you already haff many things on your mind - especially as vot has happened to your Harry Potter. He may need you as his friend now greater than before. I doubt that Ronald vill be as much help to him as you can be. Please understand me, Hermy-own-ninny. I vould not haff asked you now, if I knew for sure that I vould see you again in person – this is not something I could haff said in a letter. I –'

Hermione found her steady voice once again.

'Viktor, please,' she cut in, 'you - you don't have to apologise. You've never done anything wrong to me. I – I know how hard this must have been f-for you to ask me. I -' she laughed softly, '- well, you said yourself, h-how it took you so much time to ask me to the Yule ball. T-that must have been nothing compared to this, right? You've done nothing wrong. It was – it was brave of you to ask me now, and the things you just said were – very sweet.'

She saw Krum's eyes widen with opportunity, as if he had suddenly spotted the snitch in a World Cup Quidditch final. She was heartened to continue.

'It's – it's good of you to think about Harry. He's going through more than I can imagine right now – and I-I'm one of his best friends. You're right - I'm going to have to be there for him a bit more now.'

'That is everything I vould have expected from you, Hermy-own-ninny. You are a good friend to him.'

Krum's words were obviously having a positive effect on Hermione.

'T-thank you, Viktor. Like I said, Harry's going to need Ron and I more now that – that Vol – that things have changed. It's good of you to think of Harry as well as me, but... that shouldn't be the reason f-for me making my decisions.'

Krum's eyebrows curved upwards in puzzlement. 'Vot do you mean?'

'H-Harry wouldn't want me to – to give up everything else in my life just because he's my best friend,' Hermione continued. 'How would that make him feel? It'd make him even worse to know that one of his best friends - shut themselves away from other things in their life, just so they could be there to lend a hand whenever he needed it. He'd feel terrible - like he was a real burden to me. But I...'

Krum was still looking at her very curiously. His eyebrows were focused in concentration. Hermione got the impression that he was trying to figure out something in between the lines of what she had said. Then it hit her.

'Viktor,' she said breathlessly, 'you haven't been reading anything about Harry in the Daily Prophet, have you?'

It was Krum's turn to be left blindsided by what the person opposite him had said. He covered it up, however, with a brief shrug and a smile, and his eyebrows quickly relaxed.

'No,' he replied, unconvincingly, 'but I hear things around your castle. I –'

'Viktor, Harry and I are not dating, and we never have been. It's all just empty gossip. It was rubbish put around by this journalist, Rita –'

Krum merely waved a hand at her casually to silence her. She did so.

'It is all right, Hermy-own-ninny,' he began in an unusually calm voice, 'I believe you. I am sorry once again, it seems. I did not mean to seem so... accusing of you. I know that you and Harry are only good friends... I only thought... never mind. I was foolish.'

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them. The general level of noise surrounding her was starting to give Hermione a headache.

'Hermy-own-ninny, I do not expect you to answer me right away. You haff many things to think about before you can think about me. Maybe this thought vill be one too many for you.'

The brief talk about Harry had made Hermione periodically forget why she was standing here.

'Viktor, I –'

'I vill understand if your answer is no. I hope I have not tried to force you one vay or the other. Forgive me if I haff. All I vould like you to know is - is how beautiful you are to me. I do not care now vot other people may say. You are perfect to me, as you are, and you vill always be so.'

The nauseating heat that had invaded the indoor air made Hermione feel as though she were being suffocated under a thick blanket. Despite his comforting and thoughtful words, Krum's eyes were still fixed on her expectantly. He was awaiting her next words with baited breath.

Could she sum up enough of that Gryffindor courage to tell him the truth?

Would she ever be able to telling anyone the truth?

* * *

Hermione forced her sad eyes to focus once again on the roll of parchment lying on her pillow. Amid all the blobs of stray ink from her quill, crossings out and words added in with arrows, she had written a total of four inches in the last three hours. Putting her true feelings to paper was a lot harder than she'd thought. If this had been a Herbology essay on the properties, effects and practical uses of Flobberworm juice, she would have been scribbling furiously onto her fourth roll of parchment by now. 

She stole a quick glance at the clock on her bedside table, and gave a loud sigh of frustration. It was only two minutes to midnight now. In about five minutes time, she was sure to hear the familiar knocking on her bedroom door, indicating that her mother thought she was already way past her bedtime.

She bit the end of her quill again, her lips pursed, as she stared at the few words she had written so far.

_Dear Viktor,_

_How has your summer been so far? I hope it's been more exciting than mine. It only took me two days to finish all of my homework assignments, and my parents won't take me to Diagon Alley yet to buy next year's books. I've got a lot of work to do before I bring my skills up to the 'Durmstrang Champion' level._

_Thank you again for the time you spent to be with me throughout the year – I had lots of fun with you at the Yule Ball. Even though my mother put her foot down when I asked her about visiting you this summer, I appreciated your offer nonetheless. At least I'll still be able to write to you whenever you wish._

_The main reason I'm writing, Viktor, is due to what you asked me the last time we met, on the last day of term. I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to pen this reply. I was so taken aback by what you said that I wasn't in the right mind to give you any answer. I bet I embarrassed you with my stuttering, didn't I? I hope you weren't offended by it - I didn't mean to be rude._

_The things that you said to me have made me more confident about myself than I've ever felt. I don't think I've ever heard anyone, besides my parents, that is, say anything like that to me. It was beautiful, it was sweet, and most importantly, it was honest - and I thank you for that._

_This has been hard for me to write, so please understand if I sound unfriendly in places, but I can't keep you in the dark any longer. I don't know why I didn't tell you this that day, when you first asked me, but I guess my courage is still something I have to work on. The truth is, I was deeply flattered by your offer, and feel so bad about hurting your feelings by saying this, but – I can't do what you asked. I can't be your girlfriend. I'm sorry, Viktor._

_Before you think what I'm sure you will, let me tell you that this is not because of you. This sounds really old and clichéd and horrible, but it's honest, at least – it's me that's the problem. If my world and my circumstances were different; if I'd led a different life; if – certain things were changed, I would have answered you right away with a truthful 'yes'. The last thing I want is for you to think you aren't good enough to be with me. You are, Viktor. You always will be. _

_The truth... the truth is that_

At this crucial moment, Hermione's quill had fallen onto the floor. Her hand was shaking with tension. Right now, it would be impossible for her to go on with Krum's letter. She just couldn't do it. Most of her effort had already been poured into writing the other words, staring back up at her impassively from the roll of parchment on her pillow. They had been difficult enough. The next five words, however, would be something else. She would have to drag them, kicking and screaming, right out of the depths of her heart as though she were re-potting a Mandrake. They would require all her will, and all of her strength, to be uttered.

Lord knows she had tried many times before, she really had. But it had been an exercise in futility. It seemed that every single time, just as the quill was about to brush the rough surface of the parchment, her hand quickly withdrew again. It would be like trying to force two positive magnets together.

Writing those words down onto paper, especially if they were in a letter addressed to Viktor Krum, wouldn't be easy for her, or harmless. They would bring back four years of painful memories - four years of arguments, of broken hearts, and, most of all, of missed opportunities.

Hermione's attention was drawn away from Viktor's letter as her ears pricked. She could very distinctly hear the creaking of a floorboard or two just outside her bedroom door. She let out a sigh of relief. It seemed she had been saved, for now, from a great ordeal.

There was a soft knocking on her door, followed shortly by her mother's warm voice, slightly muffled as it passed through an inch of wood.

'Hermione, dear, it's getting rather late now, isn't it? I think it's time you turned your light out and got to bed. Your father and I are turning in now, as well.'

Hermione quietly rolled up the parchment with her letter on, just in case her mother suddenly chose to walk into the room. She would rather die before she let anybody see what was written on it.

'Okay, mum. Just give me two minutes, and I'll have my light out.'

'That's fine, dear. Good night.'

'Good night, mum.'

The further set of creaks and soft footsteps, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing, told Hermione that the coast was clear. She slowly unrolled what she had been working on for the better part of the evening, and stared once again at the last, unfinished line of writing.

_The truth is... the truth is that_

_It's only five words, Hermione. How hard can it be for you to write them down?_

Hermione hurriedly rolled up Viktor's letter, and dropped it abruptly on her floor next to the forgotten quill. She extended one shaking arm, and fumbled with the switch on her bedside lamp before her room was thrown into darkness. She was just in time, as well. Hermione could feel her lower lip trembling – moments later, she let out an audible gasp as she felt the tears escaping from her eyes yet again. She collapsed into a whimpering heap on top of her duvet and buried her face into her pillow – the last thing she wanted was for her parents to hear her sadness. She couldn't bear to see their worried, sympathetic faces looking down at her in pity, or hear their voices whispering, "Oh, Hermione, what's wrong?" She couldn't bear to imagine them wondering how often this had happened to her, or for how long. The truth, she knew, would be too much for _them_ to bear. This was her shameful little secret.

"_It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."_

Her eyes screwed up with the pain of the emotions currently running through her fragile mind. Another sob, much louder this time, was thankfully smothered into inaudibility.

"_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."_

"_Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?"_

"_Oh yeah? What's that?"_

"_Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"_

She wasn't sure how long she spent, burying her woes in the softness of the pillow, the tears constantly streaming down her face as though a dam had been broken. She had to work hard to reduce her audible sobs to silent hiccups. Her arms and legs subconsciously wrapped themselves around her duvet, placing it in a vice like grip as though her life depended on it.

The worst thing about it was, she knew exactly why she was so unhappy. She knew why she cried herself to sleep nearly every other night now. It hurt her to be so alone.

It hurt her to be so close... and yet so far away... so far away from...

She continued to lie there, face down on her bedspread, pouring out her feelings in the only way she could. She couldn't bottle up what was in her heart forever, but she didn't know what else she could do. Her parents had never been a choice. They wouldn't really understand what she felt. And it wasn't as though she had anyone else around who really cared enough to share them with her, was it?

Slowly, her arms still shaking, she reached underneath her pillow, and withdrew from her only hiding space a photograph, neatly embedded within a plain silver frame. Wrapping both her arms tightly around her bosom, she held it there, as close to her heart as she could. When she finally did fall asleep, hours later, the same dream that she had been having for the last three years awaited her.

How she wished it could be a reality one day.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Ron began. He was sat, cross-legged, on the common room floor now, all of his attention clearly focused on Hermione. His expression was fairly blank, but Harry could've sworn that he was currently engaged in a fierce battle against the part of his brain that was telling him to jump for joy. 'Just so I'm on the right lines. Krum asked you to... well, you know... on the day we left Hogwarts after fourth year ended, right? But you didn't answer him then - you said you had to think about it first. Wise choice, if you ask me. So, you left, and you thought - you owled him later that summer, saying thank you, I'm very flattered and all, but, then again, you're a git, or, I couldn't possibly kiss you with that nose of yours in the way, or whatever other reasons you gave him. Obviously he hasn't taken it too well, 'cause he hasn't written back to you since. Am I right for once?' 

Hermione raised her head out of her cupped hands, brushed an enormous amount of bushy brown hair away from her eyes, and sighed. 'Yes, Ron... that's right. Viktor obviously hasn't taken it well at all. I've written to him three times since then, as well. It seems... he just doesn't want to be my friend any more.'

Ron's face lit up as though he'd just been handed Harry's Gringotts vault key. Hermione didn't know it, but over the course of the last ten minutes, she had supplied him with enough ammo for him to shoot off comments about Krum until Christmas rolled round. He couldn't resist the temptation for very long.

'Nasty Bulgarian git,' he muttered, quickly occupying the armchair next to Hermione's as a mob of Gryffindor third years returned from Astronomy. 'Really thoughtful of him, isn't it? It's either girlfriend or no friend for him. Good riddance to bad eyebrows, I say.'

'That's going a bit far, Ron,' said Hermione testily, fixing him with a disapproving stare. Harry managed to suppress a snort of laughter. 'Try at least to understand what he's going through. How would you feel, anyway, if you were suddenly rejected in a letter? Not even to your face? Viktor was obviously hurt by what I wrote to him - which of course was the last thing I wanted to happen.' She sighed softly. 'I suppose I should have been prepared for it.'

'What, prepared for him to go ignoring you for sixteen months? He was your friend, Hermione, for crying out loud!'

'Maybe he couldn't go back to seeing me as a friend anymore, then,' Hermione said, both sadly and thoughtfully. 'I mean, after he asked me, he, well, sort of crossed the line, didn't he?'

'Yeah,' said Ron darkly in an undertone, 'I agree. He certainly crossed the line.'

Hermione sighed for what must have been the fifth time that minute. Dealing with Ron could sometimes be more exhausting than controlling a petulant child.

'I didn't mean it like that, Ron. What I mean is – is that – well, when two friends - you know what I'm talking about, don't you, Harry?'

'Oh, sure,' Harry grimaced, his weary voice laced with sarcasm. 'Sorry, Hermione, but my experiences with the opposite gender don't stretch far enough to call me an expert. This is your field.'

Hermione's left eyebrow immediately arched menacingly. 'And just what is that supposed to mean, Harry Potter?' she said icily. Her expression might have been fierce, but Ron knew her well enough now to detect that she was only toying with Harry – Harry, on the other hand, was clueless.

'I – er – well, I didn't –'

'Knock it off, Hermione,' grinned Ron. 'Teasing poor little Harry like that. Come on... help us out here. Is it really so hard to explain what's going on in that bushy little head of yours?'

Ron was luckily not within arm's reach of Hermione, or he would have seriously regretted uttering that last sentence. Her gaze, however, could have pierced into his skull from Bulgaria.

'What I mean,' she said, with gritted teeth, 'is that Viktor gambled with our friendship, and lost heavily. He took a big risk in asking me... well, what it was he asked me.'

'Wha?'

'Oh, Ron. It's simple, really. Do you honestly think that two people can just easily go back to being friends again, when one of them knows how the other feels? It doesn't work as nicely as that in real life. Oh, sure, we can still write to each other, and talk, and maybe even see each other again, but – our friendship wouldn't be the same as it was before. Our... our positions will have changed. Viktor might keep on seeing me as the girlfriend who got away, the friend who he could have been closer to - and I'll still see him as the person who always wanted our relationship to be... something more.'

She blushed at those last few words.

Ron shrugged his shoulders in genuine puzzlement. 'So? I don't get it. You must've known he liked you in that way before, right? I mean, even I can tell, when you look back at it. First, he came into the library every day to talk to you...'

'No, it's not –'

'...then he asked you to be his date at the Yule Ball...'

'Ron! It doesn't –'

'...then he had you chained to the bottom of the Great Lake by a weird clan of mer-thingies as 'the thing he would most sorely miss'...'

'Ron!'

Ron smiled sweetly in his best friend's direction. 'Yes, Hermione?'

'I know what it is you're saying, and I agree, that's how it looks when you put it like that, but –'

'But what's the problem, then?'

'_He hadn't asked me yet when all those other things were happening. _We were still technically friends.'

'Technically? You sound like one of those Muggle – loiyers, whatever they're called. So, what if you were still 'technically' friends then, huh? What's the difference? He still fancied the pants off you and I bet you knew it!'

Hermione groaned, and lowered her head into her hands again. 'I don't know, Ron,' she muttered, her voice muffled. 'That's just the way it works. Trust me. It'll save you a lot of trouble in the future.'

Ron rolled his eyes, and muttered something that was inaudible to Harry and Hermione. He glared at the fireplace for a minute or two as though he could see Krum's head within the flames.

'That's what you should do for us this year, 'Mione,' he yawned, stretching his gangly legs out underneath the table, 'instead of making us revision timetables again. You should make us a codebook; deciphering girls' complex feelings into simple language that males everywhere could understand. You could make yourself a bloody fortune... a galleonaire before you turn twenty. I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind with a book like that, would you, Harry?'

Harry was still far too exhausted from his excessive bout of Quidditch training to come up with a clever retort.

'Oh, don't take my word as that of an expert, Ron,' said Hermione with a pained smile. 'I'm no agony aunt. It's safer if you just stick to asking me about Potions. It seems the only 'male' to ever take an interest in me is regretting it right now.'

'Don't see where you went wrong myself. Was it something you said, do you think?'

Ron yelped, and quickly rolled off his armchair and onto the floor as several not-too-soft cushions passed harmlessly over his head. Harry, thankfully, quickly stepped in to draw Hermione's attention away from pummelling a fearful Ron into submission.

'Er, look, Hermione,' he said, as soon as the last cushion had safely left Hermione's hands. Ron's head, however, didn't re-emerge quickly. 'I'm – well, I'm sorry about the whole Krum thing. I really am. I didn't talk to Krum a lot when he was here... well, come to think of it, he didn't really talk to anyone very much, besides you, of course. He was my opponent, I suppose, but he wasn't fussed by it at all. In his heart, he was a good guy, even if he did choose to bunk with Slytherin instead of us.'

'Thank you, Harry.' Hermione smiled, unconvincingly. 'It's glad to know at least one of my friends shows a sliver of sympathy for me.' Her eyes narrowed maliciously in Ron's direction as a thick mass of red hair slowly and surely moved out from behind an armchair.

'Don't worry about him, Hermione,' Harry sighed, with a weary grin on his face. 'I'm sure Ron cares, deep down somewhere in that black, evil heart of his. Don't you, Ron?'

The forceful look that Ron received from Harry plainly told him it would be a bad idea to do anything but comply. He quickly nodded, turning to beam at Hermione like a school kid begging for a sugary gift from his parents.

'I do care, Hermione,' he added as an afterthought. 'It's just – it's not good to think about these things too seriously, is it? You've just got to sit back and laugh sometimes.'

'A noble philosophy, I'm sure,' Harry mumbled from where his head was resting limply on the arm of his chair. He turned his attention to Hermione once again. 'Are you really okay about it, Hermione? You don't want to, you know, er - talk to us about it? I'm sure I could get Ron to behave, if you wanted to.'

Hermione gave him a genuine smile this time. She shook her head firmly, and leaned over to retrieve her book, parchment and quill from where they had been previously abandoned on the table.

'No thank you, Harry. I'm fine about it. I'll still keep on writing to him, he has to answer me eventually. It was nice of you to offer, though.'

Harry grinned. 'Back to work again so soon?'

Hermione sighed. Six times.

'Work won't do itself, Harry. You should know that by now. We've got a workload piling up that even you and Ron can't ignore for long. This year is going to be very important for us, you know, and –'

'Er, Professor McGonagall?' Ron mocked in a falsetto, high-pitched voice. 'We haven't got you until Tuesday.'

'- and it's crucial that the two of you have the right attitude towards it if you want to have any hopes of becoming Aurors after you leave!'

'Don't listen to her, Harry!' Ron exclaimed jokingly. 'She's crazy! She tried to trick me with that one as well. Don't let her enchanting looks blind you from the truth!'

'Ron, honestly, will you grow up!?' Hermione tried to say in an angry voice. Harry, however, could easily detect the slight softness in her tone, and also the rosy tint that was slowly creeping its way across her cheeks. Whether this had anything to do with Ron referring to her looks as being 'enchanting' was something Harry didn't want to know. 'When are you going to stop act like such a child?'

The tone of Ron's voice no longer had any mirth in it.

'I don't see anything childish about spending some social time on a Friday night with my two best friends, Hermione! Is that so unreal to expect!?'

'The problem with that, Ron, is that you never do anything _but_ have social time! You've been a prefect for over a year now, and you're supposed to be setting an example!'

'I didn't realise setting an example meant spending every working minute with my nose over a piece of parchment!'

'No, it does not! All it means is not slobbering around the common room every night, distracting me from my own work, which-I-am-now-trying-to-get-back-to-having-been-rudely-interrupted-by-you, and at least trying to force your nose away from a chessboard for a change!'

'Okay, then! If I sit down here like a Perfect little Percy, and try to finish some mind numbing essay, will you finally stop throwing nasty insults at me!?'

'Yes, I will! That's the whole point! And I'm not trying to be nasty, Ronald, I'm being truthful!'

Harry groaned in frustration, and slowly closed his eyes. He braced himself for Round Two to begin. The starting bell, however, never rang. He opened one eye cautiously.

'Fine,' said Ron, in an unusually calm voice. 'In that case, if it makes you happy, I'll get some work done! Impressed, Miss Perfect Granger?'

And with that slightly less than eloquent sentiment ringing throughout the emptiness of the common room (Ginny and the Creevey brothers had long since retired to their dormitories, yawning heavily), Ron rose sharply to his feet, stormed across the faded carpet and pounded his way up the winding staircase that led to the boys' dormitories, making sure to make as much noise on each step as he could. Moments later, Harry and Hermione heard a door being slammed loud enough to wake the entire castle.

Harry turned his head towards Hermione, a look of utter bewilderment plastered across his face.

'Er... Hermione?' he began nervously. 'I'm – I'm not quite sure what just happened. Did you just actually manage to persuade Ronald Weasley – _the_ Ronald Weasley – to start his homework early on a Friday night? If so, this has got to be a first.'

Hermione face was now partially obscured by her third roll of parchment that evening. The familiar scratching noise of her quill soon began again; Harry noticed, however, that it was a lot louder and rougher on the ears than it had been before, as though Hermione was constantly attempting to stab a hole right through her homework. She didn't answer him.

Harry chose that moment to take a big risk.

'You know, Hermione, you... er, well... you never told us why you said no to Krum in the first place.'

For the second time that evening, something in what Harry had said caused Hermione to suddenly stop writing. The parchment slowly lowered to reveal her staring intently at Harry with an expression of... well, certainly not anger, as Harry had expected... wait... was it fear? Was there fear in Hermione's eyes?

As he had previously mentioned, in the heated midst of Ron and Hermione's last brief spat, Harry had never been an expert on the decoding of female emotions. But the look Hermione was giving him now would've been plain enough for Ron to understand. She looked like a rabbit that was not only caught in the headlights, but a rabbit that was also caught in wet cement.

'I'm sorry, Harry, but - that's not something that I really want to discuss yet. With anybody.'

Harry noticed that her eyes had darted quickly towards the dormitory staircase and back before she had replied. He leaned in closer, and fixed her with what he hoped was a deeply understanding and comforting expression.

'You can tell the both of us, you know,' he whispered, barely audible enough for her to hear. 'We're your best friends, Hermione. We wouldn't dream of laughing at you.'

Hermione put on the same pained smile that she had worn when Ron had mentioned the notion of her writing an emotional codebook. 'Harry,' she replied simply, 'do you really think that's what I'm afraid of?'

'I... I don't know,' Harry said. 'If you told us, we'd do our best to understand. And if we couldn't do that, we'll comfort you like something awful.'

'Call it a paradox if you want, Harry. I'll just call it an awful situation. If I tell you why I said no to Viktor, you'll – you'll immediately understand why I _couldn't_ have told you.'

'What? Hermione, I don't –'

But Harry was immediately silenced by the sound of a pair of oversized feet as they thundered their way back down to the warmth and cosiness of the late-night common room. Hermione frantically pressed a finger to her lips. She raised her parchment over her face once again, and went back to the detailed essay she had been writing. Seconds later, Ron stumbled into view, obviously struggling under the weight of the six books in his outstretched arms. He looked a lot calmer than he had done a minute ago. However, he still chose to stamp his feet as he closed the gap between the two of them, and slammed the books down onto the coffee table with enough force to make Hermione leap a foot into the air.

'Wow, mate, you weren't kidding when you said you were going to get some work done,' Harry said before Ron could turn his wrath onto Hermione. 'What'cha going to work on?'

'Potions,' Ron grumbled. He threw himself into the armchair opposite Harry's, and prepared himself for study. 'Something about how some potion making gets affected by weather patterns and lunar cycles. Three foot essay, can you believe?'

'Oh, that shouldn't be too difficult,' Hermione said breezily, as though the last the minutes of argument had never happened. 'There's loads of potions that we've already brewed in class using ready-made ingredients that you could use. In fact, I'm sure there's an entire section in _Magical Drafts and Potions_ devoted to potions of that nature.'

Ron muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot to Harry like 'easy for some'. Whether Hermione heard him or not, she thankfully chose not to respond. Ron proceeded to pull a textbook gingerly from the bottom of his heaving pile, and spent the next ten minutes flicking to various random pages and reading, with his eyebrows knotted in concentration. Eventually, he filled up his quill with ink and made a start on the monstrous essay that awaited him. His tongue stuck out as he did so.

Harry amused himself watching Ron at work. He obviously still hadn't calmed down from his little disagreement with Hermione. While her hand continued to glide over the surface of the parchment, as if she was using one of Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quills, Ron's style of writing was a lot less flowing. He would gaze at a word in his textbook for a couple of minutes, blink, slowly pen down another sentence or two to his essay, stop, glare briefly over his work at Hermione, mutter something under his breath, and gaze back at his textbook again. After watching him go through this cycle for a third time, Harry had to look away to stop himself from laughing. He closed his eyes, and went back to thinking about the different Seeking tactics he was going to attempt in Gryffindor's upcoming Quidditch match.

Harry quickly lost track of time considering which situations were perfect for using the Wronski Feint in. He wasn't sure how long it was, therefore, before Ron summed up the courage to break the silence.

'Um... Hermione?'

Harry opened one eye in caution, like a sleeping lizard that had sensed trouble approaching. Hermione was gazing up at Ron in surprise. He was currently looking as though he were caught in the trenches of a serious mental battle.

'Yes, Ron?'

'Um... do you remember when we... er, I mean you... made that Polyjuice Potion, back in second year? When we thought Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin? Didn't you, er, say there was some ingredient that had to be added at an odd time? Or something like that?'

'Oh!' Hermione said in surprise, as though she had been expecting something totally different. 'Yes, I think so - yes, yes there was. It was, well, it was the - er, the fluxweed. It had to be picked at the full moon, if I remember correctly. Would you... like me to check it for you?'

'No, ta,' Ron answered warmly. 'I always trust your memory. Thanks, 'Mione.'

Hermione's voice was perhaps a little higher than normal when she replied. 'Um... it's okay, Ron. Always glad to help out.'

Their heads quickly lowered again, and their hands resumed their work where they'd left off. Harry directed his amused eyes from Ron to Hermione; he couldn't help but notice the tiny smile that was creeping over the corners of her lips as she wrote.

'Hermione?'

Hermione looked up once again.

'What is it, Ron?' she said, in a softer voice than usual.

Harry had to do his best to suppress a snort of mirth when he looked over at Ron. His eyebrows were twitching oddly, and the tips of his ears were beginning to go bright red. His mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. Whatever Ron was about to say, thought Harry, he looked as if he really didn't want to say it.

'Umm... look, Hermione... I'm – I'm really sorry about flying off at you earlier. There wasn't any reason for it – well, not a good one, anyway – and I'm sorry if it upset you at all. I never mean to... to make you feel bad, or anything like that.'

Ron was saying all of this very quickly, as though he wouldn't have the heart to go on if he were interrupted.

'And – and I'm sorry about forcing all that stuff out of you about Vick – about Krum. I didn't realise it was so important 'til you'd said it all. I'm sure I, er, made you feel pretty uncomfortable, so... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've said up to about an hour ago, in fact. I've been a right idiot. And I'm – I'm glad that you trusted us enough to... to tell us about... well, you know. It meant a lot to me.'

An odd silence followed the memorable moment that Ron Weasley had uttered his first apology to his best friend.

Hermione looked pretty much paralysed to Harry. Obviously Ron's words were, once again, the last thing she'd expected to hear. It took her much longer than usual to force out a half-decent reply.

'Well, I – er – you didn't really... well, thank you, Ron. That was – that was rather nice of you to say that. A – a bit unexpected, but - v-very sweet.'

Ron's face looked redder than the coals stoking in the heart of the dying fire. Hermione abruptly stood up, absent-mindedly dusting something imaginary off her pristine robes. Her quill and parchment were brushed to the floor.

'I'm – I'm feeling a bit tired now, guys. So, I'm - I'm going to bed. M-maybe you were right, Ron – all work and no play makes Hermione a sleepy girl.'

She was gathering all of her work together rather quicker than Harry would've expected a 'sleepy girl' to. She took everything in her arms at once – quill, essay, satchel, textbooks - the lot. The topmost book on the pile looked in serious danger of slipping off and causing her foot a lot of unnecessary pain.

'Night, Harry. G-good night, Ron.'

And with that, she bustled across the common room, nearly breaking her neck over a stray chair in the process, and vanished from view within a second - leaving an embarrassed Ron, and a very confused Harry, to contemplate her behaviour in whatever way they wished.


End file.
